I thought that when Jonathan proposed to me a magical door would open. I would step through that door, and as if some invisible curtain or cape descended down upon my shoulders while I passed the threshhold, I would emerge on the other side in the land of Easy Weight Loss.  Then Jon proposed.  Nothing happened. I kept eating like I always had, splurging like I wanted, and in general, feeling no different. I went home at Christmas and went dress shopping. I chose a dress which was tight enough to make breathing uncomfortable. “You’ll lose five pounds and it will fit like a gem,” said my mother, said the seamstress, said everyone. Umm, but I have yet to lose that weight. (I did not choose that dress in order to make me lose weight - I have heard enough horror stories about that and strongly urge you to choose one that fits when you choose it)

I know I’ll probably eventually lose the weight out of stress, the sooner the date grows near. But in the meantime, I’m mad! I have only heard stories of dramatic weight loss: Ten, Twenty, Forty pounds! It was clear to me from these stories that being engaged did something, something unexplainable, and something magically, fantastically certain.

The real problem? I’m still not eating that different. (But ahem, where is the magic cape that makes me want to eat less?)  When I was standing in the too-tight dress I thought to myself, “What do I love more: Ice Cream or this Dress?” The answer was obviously the dress, right that second. However, if my mom had been standing behind me with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Caramel Sutra, I might not have bought the dress. I might have been honest.

I am a little pissed that I the magic cape missed its target. It’s obviously drifting around Geneva, or has landed on some already-blessed-by-her-European-ancestry toothpick on Rue de Rive who does not deserve it! Yet, I have a trick up my sleeve. I have a gym pass. So what I cannot do with my diet, I am making up for at the gym. I have been going five times a week, an hour a day. I’m not psycho about it. I take the day of when I feel too tired. Somedays I simply walk to Geneva and take the bus home. But, after downing a pint of Not-Quite-Sutraesque (but orgasmic to me in its very existence as being iced cream) Caramel Movenpick, I realized I needed to amp up my workout if I wasn’t going to slim down my portions very easily.